#and every single time shit like this happens it’s ‘I cannot recall’

[the-desolated-quill]

I’m reading Burn It Down, and something that’s really irritating me is the number of times showrunners like Damon Lindelof say they ‘cannot recall’ when they said or did anything racist or toxic to their writers. Well why don’t you give it a fucking try Damon. Because there are quite a few saying you did. The least you can do is be honest, you fucking coward.

#burn it down #maureen ryan #damon lindelof #saying you cannot recall something is such a specific and unnatural sounding phrase that’s deliberately non committal #even saying you can’t remember sounds more honest than I cannot recall #and every single time shit like this happens it’s ‘I cannot recall’ #always ‘I cannot recall’

[radioactive-earthshine]

Thoughts on House of Brainiac pt 1 in Action Comics #1064

We got a good balance of action and whimsy, I really enjoyed seeing Lois taking time for herself to just (attempt) to do mundane things for herself with adult friends on her one day off.

I love that Kon and Kenan are regularly babysitting Otho and Osul. Also ngl it's funny that Kon doesn't even have a hero title here he's just 'clone of superman and lex luthor.

Kara is on a date?! 👀 I might have missed something but I do not recall her dating anyone so this is a fun little detail.

John and Lana as we know are now engaged and this was a fun way to remind the reader of that detail.

Clark playing with the ocean here was just a cute scene and was beautifully done.

The headband is a bit much...

Naturally because this issue starts so blissfully mundane and domestic and happy we know shit is gonna hit the fan and shit hit that fan. But not before we were given a little crumb to chew on...

They were interrupted before it could be revealed but we can assume this is an anniversary of some kind- maybe their marriage, maybe the day they met, maybe the day Clark came back to life, something else. We don't know yet so we're left in the dark until that bit is revealed eventually.

Brainiac attacks Metropolis with the Czarnian army he had from a bottle-city and in the midst of the chaos Clark reveals that he doesn't have as much experience with Brainiac as Kara does - so we are not dealing with pre-Crisis OR pre-Flashpoint crisis canon in this case. Which was to be expected. Brainiac's encounters with Krypton pre-destruction has been a poignant part of Kara and Krypton's canon for a while now and would have been unwise to erase in my opinion. Having Clark leaning on her for direction is a welcome change from when he was exceedingly familiar with Brainiac.

As expected Brainiac is going straight after Luthor of whom they have had a long history together where Brainiac does in fact view him as the smartest human. Whether or not this is accurate is not really fairly quantifiable but Brainiac thinks he is, and that's what matters.

"Those Lobos" Amazing how LEX is calling Czarnians LOBOS. The smartest man on the planet people.

👀 We're gonna have to chew on this one.

Well Lex got what he wanted, his daughter to call him Dad.

Brainiac needs Lex's head for whatever he has planned and he took Lena and Mercy captive as a sort of bargaining chip to try to get Lex to comply, because this incarnation of Lex is not totally without feelings.

Lobos. Not Czarnians. Lobos.

He better start calling all Kryptonians Kal Els or Supermans.

While it is unlikely he had a direct hand in the attack this is likely something he started or helped to put in motion. And he confirms that he has an idea of what Brainiac is up to when he WARNS Clark to not allow Brainiac to obtain his family, or anyone WITH powers.

It is also interesting that he is referring to them as his family, not his 'brood' or 'kin'. Family.

Either way, Lex knows something more than what he is immediately revealing.

Remember, they CANNOT be captured. It's imperati-

.... Damnit.

So the worst thing just happened and all of Clark's family and close friends and several metas within Metropolis were snagged immediately.

However, Jon and Jay have NOT been shown to be captured (yet). We do not see either of them in this issue so it will be interesting to see if Jon (or Jay) will have some sort of part to play in this arc.

I wonder if Jay's powers would even let him BE captured in the first place. It might be likely that Williamson couldn't factor that in so he elected to keep it out entirely.

Huh. You know. THIS detail was originally Kieth Giffen's Czarnia when he made the back history of Lobo. Czarnia was such a utopia it didn't even have a police force because everyone simply... got along. Until Lobo was born and killed everyone. Now the Czarnian canon is quite different and for some reason every single member dresses exactly like Lobo which sigh while 'cool' makes the whole people feel one-dimensional and I do not LIKE it.

Just because I wear plunging neckline tops and yoga pants doesn't mean every human does as well. Heaven forbid if some alien species bases all of humanity based on my wardrobe. You're ALL wearing black and yellow.

Anyway, this "Lobo" is named General Chacal. And because he is named we're likely going to be dealing with him more.

ngl they are all so cute in their pink fairy bottles. Anyway, they're being taken into SPACE.

The last person to get nabbed is Lex who in an apparent show of self sacrifice prevents Clark from being taken. This could all be strategy but the comic is leading us to believe he does care for his daughter. So Brainiac wins this round.

The closing pages leaves a lot of mysteries still as to WHAT Brainiac is doing.

Thus far we know the following;

1.) He is LONELY and he wants to remedy that but he can't be normal about it. 2.) Lex and him have history involving his wildly important plan to not be lonely. 3.) His plan involves Kryptonians, and metas, so we can safely assume he is using their genetics in some facet. 4.) He NEEDS Lex to complete this plan. 5.) He intends to share his knowledge, what this means and with who is unknown but it could be he is intending to share it with other versions of himself due to the last page. 6.) Speaking of the last page, it is interesting because we are seeing a mosaic of different versions of Brainiac from across time and realities. It is still very much unknown what his plan is, he could be intending to make some sort of beefed up Frankenstein's monster version of a companion "Brainiac Queen" - or he might be planning on beefing himself up and a new population of Coluans or both. We simply do not know. Other mysteries; 1.) Destruction of Braal. - Why? 2.) I know Williamson mentioned he read L.E.G.I.O.N. so he is not ignorant that Brainiac DOES IN FACT ALREADY HAVE FAMILY that he's tried to kill multiple times. I hope he brings in Vril Dox II because if there EVER were an appropriate time, it is now. I'm really excited and next week we get pt2 in Superman 2023 #13. This is a big build up and it is hard to say where the fuck we're going.

#house of brainiac #tuesday spoilers #superman #vril dox #not putting this in all the tags this is mostly for me

[garthofshayeris]

How can all of Garth’s personality, relationships, and history became irrelevant to the current comics runs? What happened?

Great question! After Flashpoint happened, the Dc Universe reset. For a lot of comics, there were no major character or lore changes. However, the Aquaman comics got a major overhaul.

It’s important to note that Aquaman lore has changed over the years, but the changes were either slow or the kept much of the same characterization, but updated certain aspects. For example, although Death of a Prince takes place in the Bronze Age of comics, it was playing off dynamics already established in the Silver Age, and the story was tweaked slightly when the post-crisis reboot happened, so the events were still relevant in Volumes 4-6 (80s-early 2000s). The lore expanded to say, these major elements are still here! We have changed some things, and here they are! And this is how it effected what you might be familiar with, etc.

Then comes the New52. In order to make the comics easier for newcomers to read, about 90% of the characters and Atlantean history were removed completely from canon. This includes Garth, who was the longest-running humanoid supporting character!! (Topo the octopus is the longest-running returning character, and for the record they also got rid of him)

They re-did Arthur’s backstory (adapted to something similar to his Silver Age origins) and some characters, like Orm, were completely re-done as well to fit the new lore. They did not do this for Garth; in fact, every major element of his character that tied him to the story was removed. His kingdom I mentioned in that last ask? Gone. Atlan, the wizard who trained him? Gone (although they do re-use that name, the New52 character named Atlan is not Atlan from previous stories). The rumor about purple eyes? Actually not gone, but they did completely change what it meant and when we meet an entire community of purple-eyed Atlanteans, Garth is not among them. (Purple eyes have been an element to his character since his introduction, btw)

“But comicvine says Garth appeared in the New52!” I hear you cry. Technically true. But here’s a fun fact: they “teased” his return on the last page of one comics, and his design was so off from all previous versions that the fans did not know who he was supposed to be. Why? He was wearing a color Garth was never seen in, sporting a strange tattoo on the wrong side of his face (those lines aren’t a tattoo in pre-flashpoint btw…it’s a scar, that Atlan gave him) and because Garth had always, always, always been the child that Arthur adopted…the fact that he showed up as a fully formed adult with no connection to Arthur was so strange that even the Aquafans did not make the connection!!

This character, a mercenary who never spoke to Arthur, appeared a few more times before being quietly re-set in Rebirth.

Now, let’s recall that the comics removed all aspects of this character’s connection to the story, including the very fact that he was essentially Arthur’s adopted child. This is STILL TRUE in Rebirth. I cannot think of a time that Garth spoke directly to Arthur in any of the comics, but Mera said once that Arthur basically paid for Garth to go to Magic Underwater Wizard College, which is something that exists for some reason. Also he dropped out of Magic Underwater Wizard College because his girlfriend died, but we don’t know that woman’s name and he has literally never brought it up outside that single comics.

I want to say, I am not against changing backstories. Garth has had two and a half backstories since the 60s! But they grow and expand to fit the new world they live in. The writers took time and energy, they poured their hearts into making this new character appeal to their brave new world. But DC has not given Garth that same grace these past 15ish years. They had so, so many chances as well! They could have rewritten him in a way that was satisfying to his old fans. But they do not give a shit about Garth.

You see. DC wants to trick you. They want to say “everything is canon now” and not have to put in any effort. except my dears, the Aquaman comics are so complicated that they cannot exist at the same time. Because sure, maybe we can say Garth is no longer royal, because that kingdom his parents ruled no longer exists. But without that bloodline, why is he the most powerful Atlantean sorcerer? Did he never complete a highly emotional task of claiming his birthright, and accepting the death of Tula so he can heal his emotional wounds? Oh. Tula is alive? And now related to Orm? And they hardly know each other? Well, he just went to Magic College and he’s good for absolutely no reason at all. Is he still close with Arthur? I’m not sure. Arthur paid for college, but has never spoken to Garth. Garth is absent from all major life events in the Aquafamily. He has never met Arthur’s biological kid. He has no useful role inside a comic that he used to be an integral part of, his usual role has been split among others. So there goes his backstory. There go his emotional connections. Goodbye to the major emotional highs and lows as well. Goodbye to his personality traits, intentionally written to be played off of Arthur’s. Goodbye to any kind of role in the narrative; when you can replace his character with a nameless extra, is he really part of the story?

And when you remove all of that…what is there to like about this character, anyway?

#if you like characters for their appearance alone that is fine I guess #except I like Garth for his backstory. his characterization. his personality. his role in the narrative. #and when you remove all of that? then that is not who I like anymore. that’s just a guy. #garth of shayeris #aquaman #aquaman meta

[captainsteveamericarogers]

Why are you so quiet? Everyone has gone insane and making up new facts every five minutes, you're usually the first one to lose your patience and lay it down. You're obviously on Chris' side yet you're letting people talk shit about him. You need to say something!!

I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted. You talk as if I'm some matriarch of the fandom when in fact I'm just a mediocre fanfic writer who is exhausted with this whole debacle and it's barely been two weeks. Nobody listens to me!

Today I saw a magnificent example of both Chinese whispers and alternative facts in this fandom. The person who alleged that CE was at her work for medical imaging, who I suspect was also the author of the now-deleted Reddit post, only tweeted that she had found out he was at her work. I appreciate that many people deleted the screenshots of the tweet as it was a gross invasion of his privacy and a HIPAA violation that, if true, would have very serious consequences for both the tweeter and her employer, and that a lot of people didn't see it. But suddenly people were talking about an actual x-ray or MRI image that had been posted and deleted. There was never an image. That didn't stop a few people from saying they knew someone who had seen it, which adds credence to the rumour despite being a lie due to there never being an image.

A lie can run around the world before the truth has got its boots on - The Truth by Terry Pratchett

We are seeing this in action every single day since the People article. I've seen people make the most outlandish claims. Suddenly, everyone has a friend who knows his flight details or what he ate for dinner. It's utterly demented. It's beyond crazy.

Let's go through all of the utter horse shit I can recall from the past fortnight. Shall we have more bullet points?

It's all PR

They have a contract for two years (how could anyone possibly know this?)

Chris obviously cannot stand Alba anywhere near him

The girl in the park who was forced to delete her Twitter was in on it and planted there to record

Chris has been personally seeking out Tumblrinas to block on Twitter

Narrative PR wrote the deranged fan letters to make the fandom "look crazy" (lol) and garner sympathy for Chris

Literally anyone who sticks up for Chris or Alba is, in fact, Chris or Alba or their moms

Alba wore a halter to WDW to show off her tattoo and be recognised (Really? Who on earth is going to recognise her?)

She only flew into FL to record the video and then left immediately (y'all really don't like them spending time together, huh?)

They are reading every single post every single gossip blog writes and using the comments to make their fake PR relationship more convincing

There's more but this is so exhausting. If you take one thing from this post, let it be this. Take EVERYTHING with a pinch of salt, no matter who posts it and how sure they seem. Sometimes people are right and sometimes they are wrong. This fandom has a nasty habit of voicing their opinions as facts, then others take that and run with it, like today with the medical imaging business.

The fact is, nobody cares whether or not you believe it. But you are devoting hours of your life, every single day, dissecting everything and going around and around in circles and it is not healthy. It is not healthy at all. Take some time off or at least talk about something else.

Someone asked what I personally think is happening with Chris and Alba, so I'll leave you with my thoughts. It's serious. They are in love. I think they'll probably get married sooner rather than later. The laser focused comment was an FYI, telling the fandom that he's going to be taking his foot off the gas and concentrating on his private life for the foreseeable future. Take it with a pinch of salt. 🤷🏽‍♀️

#chris evans #alba baptista #anon ask #fandom ish #yes #we're still on it

[cartoon-network-things]

As promised: the Cartoon Network UK Schedule for May 2013 (possibly the week starting from the 14th).

Like I said before, this schedule is not very good. It's nostalgic for sure, but not great in retrospect. Only a few shows during the day, and most of them consist of just Regular Show, Adventure Time, Gumball and Johnny Test, sometimes in THAT specific order. It's very lazy and boring, despite the fact that at least three of them are really good shows. It's not like CN was lacking in content at that point as the US feed was way ahead of the UK with a variety of different shows in different slots, though to be fair, half of those were aired on either Boomerang or CN Too, leaving the main channel a lot less to work with.

In terms of "new" content that week, or in this case, THAT YEAR, Gormiti: Forces of Nature is one I did not expect to see. I literally cannot recall a single memory of that show, despite being sliced inbetween Ben 10 Omniverse and Regular Show. Probably because it was only on for about a few weeks and disappeared soon after. This was however, a week or two AFTER Star Wars: The Clone Wars aired it's season premiere, so that's cool. In terms of other content, you got some early morning Chowder reruns, plus an hour of Ultimate Alien at 12pm. I was usually in school by then so it makes sense why I never saw it, despite having access to a DVR and knowing how to use one. You've also got some Dreamworks Dragons: Riders of Berk reruns exclusive to weekends, which I definitely remember seeing at the time. Notice how I managed to talk about every show on the daytime schedule in just ONE paragraph.

And if you thought THAT was bad, wait til you see the night-time schedule. Sure, you got some rather odd but cool lineup of classic cartoons from 9 to 11pm, and then an hour of Chop Socky Chooks, followed by two hours of Hero 108, also followed by the exact show preceeding it for another hour, AND THEN ANOTHER TWO HOURS OF HERO 108 AGAIN, followed by MORE Chop Socky Chooks at 5am. You see the problem? Over HALF of the graveyard slots are filled with just two shows for over 7 hours. And in case you're wondering what happened to Robotboy and all the other shows from 2010-2011ish, they were either moved to CN Too & Boomerang or just completely gone from all three (this is likely what happened with Fantastic Four). Though to be fair, it's not nearly as bad as you think because let's be real here: who the hell is gonna watch Cartoon Network at 3am? (totally not me lol)

Phew! Got tired from writing all of this shit. Maybe I'll post an ideal version of this schedule at some point by fixing some of its issues and just making something that could've been. Now if only I was this dedicated to actual important things.

#cartoon network #cartoon network shows #uk tv #cartoon network schedules #hanna barbera #Regular Show #What the fuck is a gormiti #uk tv schedules #2010s cartoons #cartoon network nostalgia

[therabbitsmuse]

one of my many ongoing projects is moving my favorite photos onto the Day One app. i haven't gone through my google photos in forever & came across SO many photos that I have loved & forgotten about. it's been a super tedious process but it's crazy how seeing a photo will allow you to dive right back into the past like it happened just yesterday. some findings during that process:

my life literally was 'eat, sleep, rave, repeat' for YEARS. but make 'eat' interchangeable with 'drink' lol. going through those memories felt like a rollercoaster. i felt like i wasn't in control of anything during that phase and could barely anticipate the next sudden drop in life. side note, seeing these photos reminded me of my godlike party stamina back then lol. sometimes i wish i still had it but i think it's gone for a good reason now lol

this is going to sound conceited as hell but DAYUM i looked GOOD! but I can remember clear as day my mindset back then when I took those photos -- how insecure i was, picking at every little thing. if i could go back in time, it would be to shake myself and be like, "girl, be more CONFIDENT. it shows when you're not! also, you look great." like how was i partying that much and sleeping so little and still looking decent? nowadays, if i have one late night a week, it fucking shows EVERYTHING hahaha. maybe this is what they mean to just enjoy your youth because everything that you were worried about back then really isn't going to matter in the future/never existed anywhere but in your own head.

oh, my friends from that era. i remember how great of a time we had together. and i also am very aware that at this point in present-day time, we're more like acquaintances now. it's been years since I've seen some of them or even longer since we've had deep conversations. i'm trying to not romanticize that time period since I'm all up in my feels but i do have the urge to jump back into it like old times. except those days don't exist anymore.

despite the thousands of photos I'm going through, i wish i took more photos!!! I have a lot of shitty photos because I didn't want to bother with taking an extra minute or two to try to take something with a better composition. plus the cameras on phones back then were so bad (looking at my edc 2013 videos LMFAO). it was more about 'just be there in the moment'. but now, 10 years later, my dusty ass brain cannot recall a lot of it LOL. i really thought some crusty 10-second snapchat was enough because at that time, i never thought i would look back on those videos years into the future. and wish i had more of them, shitty quality and all.

& going off of that, during 2016 edc, my bf at the time invited four girls from taiwan to come with us. we lowkey made fun of them the whole time because they were so insistent on taking photos every hour or so. at some point, my bf was like, "STOP TAKING PHOTOS, PUT THAT AWAY, I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU GUYS TAKE ANOTHER SELFIE!" but in retrospect, they did take some cute ass photos! like I've gone to 6 EDC's at this point i don't even have a single photo of myself overlooking kinetic field. i had some cute photos with people i no longer speak to and would hopefully never see again lmao. I've tried cropping them out but it's still just tainted shit and blurry low-quality jpegs haha. nothing with just me.

[side note, i just talked to my ex whom i mentioned in the previous bullet in the middle of writing this. i basically told him everything i just said about wishing I had taken more photos back then and he's like, "hah yeah, i do wish we had taken more photos then, the fobs were right" LOLLL]

I'm still pretty shy about taking my camera out and taking photos because i don't want to be that friend who makes people wait before they can eat their food lol but i think i can find other moments where i can take pics~ i really wish i had taken the coolpix i had in college around to events.

basically I'm gonna make sure there's no shortage of good photos of my 30's and I'm also going to try to note down memories with each collage because there's so much shit i forget about after a week goes on and they're just lost forever

#drafts #thoughts #photos #memories #musings #day one #k i should go back to work lol #personal

[devilbombers]

Music Rambles: Vocaloid/utaite

for real have been living under a rock all this time because I actually only really got into the vocaloid/utaite scene only about 2 years ago. I REALLY think I missed out during it's peak.

Love or hate vocaloid, you cannot ignore the herstory and impact it has on the world

The beginning of the end

I still recall in highschool some of my friends were really into it and as a matter of fact I was constantly reminded of the fucking kagamine twins just because I have a twin lmao. I thought it was all super cringe though and I would actually get creeped out if people mentioned it and shamed them for it. oh how the tables have turned.

cringe or not, it was impossible to ignore it or deny the yass slayery it has. Some songs I either pretended it sounded like shit and/or listened to in secret was:

butterfly on your right shoulder - the kagamine twins (#1 guilty pleasure at the time)

electric angel - the kagamine twins

just be friends - megurine luka

angelfish - rin kagamine

first love academy, school of true love - rin, len and gumi (fun fact: this is the first song i ever found with gumi in it so i actually thought gumi was a man at first. Ever since then I've accepted gumi as a trans legend lmao)

it really wasn't until I discovered reol did I actually give in to it all. Initially I thought reol's voice was unbearably high and giga's intense beats hurt my brain, but luvoratory is too good to be played once and after a few thousand listens before i knew how i felt i was hooked.

things probably spiralled out of control for me with it all because fast forward to around 2019; miku expo begins and she ACTUALLY has a show in my city. I actually cop VIP TICKETS to go see her. This would've been the craziest shit ever to ever happen to me if it didn't get cancelled because of covid aadjasdsaldlaakl it was supposed to be my first concert too. (on a slightly lighter note; I got tickets a little while ago to go see gumi live in my city!!!!!!!!!)

thoughts on the genre as a whole

I think the most irresistible thing about the whole vocaloid/utaite genre to me is there is no consistent genre to it. It works so well with my personal philosophy of having no favorite music genre of course I have to be so invested in it.

some producers and utaite i like:

giga

nilfruits

yuu miyashita

babuchan

rerulili

kira

oster project

kikuo

ado

mitchie m

utsu-p

Hiiragi Kirai

tsumiki

youman

if you're already familar with some of these guys, you can already tell all of these artists and such are quite vastly different from each other. It's a little beautiful to me in a way how it all is how it is and you can't really see any other music subculture do something like this.

FAVORITE VOICE BANKS

I really want to say it's Rin Kagamine because I'm delusional as fuck and think we're the same person and most of the vocaloid songs i listen to happen to use her vocals. Some years ago during a very boring and so forgettable con I cannot remember what it was called, i was just sitting idly by my table as my friend played songs a little on their speaker. One of the songs they played was Meltdown by iroha and ever since then I can't stop playing it almost every single day and everytime even the slightest inconvenience happens to me; I will blare this song so loud in frusturation.

Vflower is somewhere way up there with fav vocaloids. VERY unique sounding voice and I really like how producers are able to tune her very differently from each other. She's really dominating the scene lately and at this point its IMPOSSIBLE to ignore her. which is exactly why I'm so aggravated at companies and such for not letting her play live or even put her in fucking project sekai!!!!!!! how the fuck are you gonna keep putting her songs in it but not have her in it! i don't care if she's not in the same company theres no way you don't have the money to do it!!!!!!!!

i feel like there isn't a lot of songs by Gumi by herself; i really wish there were more bangers for her. She duets extremely well with mostly rin or miku though. Her voice provider is half-filipino therfor gumi is half-filipino and my only representation in this awful world so i really like her. Very nice sounding voice, theres a lot of opportunity to use her for most things really. I have the exact same issue as i do with vflower, PUT HER IN PROJECT SEKAI AND LET HER DO MORE CONCERTS YOU COWARDS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Megurine Luka has the most prettiest sounding voice for sure. I would group her in my top 3 vocaloids in no particular order with vflower and rin. LOTS of nice range and there isn't much to say i can say other than shes a fucking legend and she's kind of sexy lmao.

THERE REALLY IS NO SONGS FOR MEIKO AND IT FUCKING SUCKS CAUSE SHE HAS SO MUCH UNTAPPED POTENTIAL. Very nice almost silkyish mature sounding voice. Personally i think no one knows how to harness her voice the best than oster project. Maybe it's just because they're the only producer who makes shit for her, but I feel like maybe meiko's voice is best used in dramatic type songs with lots of classic instruments. I'm actually angry at the world for not producing her enough my god

Ms Hatsune Miku; what can i really say except she's literally the bitch of all time. Obviously the vocaloid with the most impact for sure with what i would say is the most balanced type of voice from all the voice banks which gives her lots of opportunity to do literally any song which is exactly why she has so much motherfucking power.

#music rambles #I'll definetly make more posts reviewing various producers and such in a more detailed manner down the line

[mcrmadness]

I'm currently doing some maths exercises because of my school, and this exercise is all about statistics. I don't know what is it with repetitive numbers or characters (as in letters or numbers), but I find it so so difficult to see them.

For example, this exercise uses Excel and has small numbers (1-5) on two rows and the exercise asks me to count how many times each number exist in that table. And holy shit is that difficult for me to SEE. Like, finding the numbers between each other is so difficult. I actually had to choose all cells with the same numbers and change the colors of those cells just so that I am even able to tell where's what and make the counting easier.

These exercises are also all about median and mode and... fuck, the median one is so difficult because there are so many similar numbers in a row that I just stop being able to see them once there are more than 3. I have to count them by pointing at them with my fingers just to be able to count above 4 numbers.

Which all is... not exactly a bad thing. Like, as long as I get the job done, it's all good, right? But I have just often been wondering this my eyes' inability to count repetitive characters when the amount is more than three. Like, even reading a phone number can be difficult if it has the same digit for more times than just 2-3 times.

I think this is not affecting numbers only, but also the way I see things when I draw. The exact same thing happens when I'm using references and I see only one detail at once but not the others, often leading to me drawing something with proportions far from the reference because I cannot see the forest from the trees. This is why I use the grid technique when I draw photorealistic humans, and even then when I focus on one square of the grid, I only see details and not the whole picture in that square. And then it's always like "wait but there's more stuff to this square than this line, wtf, when???" because I simply did not see anything else there. And I just can't make my eyes see more than that one thing.

Is this what dyslexia feels like? For quite a long time I have been wondering if I could have mild dyslexia but not affecting everything I do. Mostly I have problems with things I mentioned here, memorizing and recalling series or letters or numbers (I always suck at these what comes to foreign languages), reading out loud longer more difficult words (my mother tongue has lots of long words) and sometimes I just can't get the letters in the right order when I try to pronounce words like "addrenaline" or "non-conforming", it actually took me ages to even learn how to write the latter and I still don't know if it's even right. I am not able to pronounce it properly because the n, f and m get mixed every time I try. Sure, English has its own quirks that don't fit my mouth in general, but Finnish also has lots of more difficult words but of which I of course cannot remember a single one right now.

Sure, anything could also be just related to ADHD. Some days I'm so bad at reading cos I'm feeling slightly hyperactive and my brain refuses to read sentences with the words in a correct order and keeps jumping from word to words as it pleases, leading to me not understanding a single thing because the text is literally all over the place. And then some days this does not happen at all. Usually the letters stay in place, at least.

Anyhow, back to these maths exercises now. Only a few left and then I'm done with this course for good.

#mcrmadness' random stuff

[zwriteseverything]

I was thinking about this Christmas and how sad I am about the whole situation and how could this possibly be happening.

But to be honest Christmas for me is always a home run or just a complete miss.

To start, this isn’t the first time where I am alone for Christmas, I mean my whole life has been more basically “surviving” through Christmas since I was a child. The first Christmas memory that I had clearly was building ginger bread houses with some woman who her name escapes me but she lived near by and I remember eating the hard gummy candy that you used for the lights and since then dots candy have always been a go to candy for me during the holidays. I remember that Christmas wasn’t about the gifts or presents but the time we spent with that woman. I remember it being the whole day of just fun activities and laughter. The best part about that memory is watching my brother and sister just having the time of their life. Now notice how neither one of my parents are present for this story and I don’t think that is a coincidence. My memory cannot recall what happened that day or where they were or what was going on. Just remember them not being around.

Now, from that Christmas forward, there was every excuse in the world on why we didn’t want to celebrate Christmas from everyone in my life. The closest second great Christmas I had was probably 5 years ago now 2019. Alex and I were together at the time and him and I just blew all the money we had to spoil each other and our families. It was a beautiful experience and we went on vacation and it was a wonderful time. Everyone has some fun, actually Alex was also really sick 😷 I remember but he still had so much fun.

There have been some very, very lonely Christmas’s as well because I have be with individuals who believe that Christmas is just a marketing tactic used to sell goods to people around the world. It’s just a money making scheme, blah, blah, blah. I also find that these are the same people who cannot have fun at places like Disney Land. Ok, if Christmas is all about spending money, and whatever else please tell me how your missing the whole that is the days Jesus was born part because now your just being illogical and picking points that fit your argument. Those were the Christmas’ spent in strange places.

For example, Colorado, I was sooooo drunk and high that night, I took myself out. I mean I was surrounded by co-workers and they were all doing dumb shit. Not a single person is excluded from that, give adults unlimited money, little freedom and it’s just becomes uncontrollable chaos. You try to stay away from it but when your alone in a hotel room during the holidays you just drink the pain away. But the moment I come home and my mom just ruins the holidays, it reminds me of why I choose Christmas away from my own kin.

I had some lonely Christmas with my ex Jack, ohhhh when I was a kid and my mom would be working all day and I would be alone with the kids.

I’ve put the tree up at least 4 times by myself,

My Christmas decorations were thrown out by my mom this year. All of them. I have been collecting them for 7 years 😭

It’s always something…

#love #blackblogger #lifestyle #black women #personal #yellow aesthetic #positivelife #affrimation #blackgirlmagic #my own post

[crystalelemental]

Reddit has had a lot of new players come in this month, so apparently the Legends Arceus is working really well.  But on the other hand, now I have to get into arguments with people again about what’s best for starting players.  Specifically, the whole “You should pick SS Blue from Victory Road.”

NO!  God, I hate when people do this.

SS Blue isn’t that good for a starting player.  By modern standards he’s a defensive tank with zero healing potential.  “But he’s so bulky, bro!”  Yeah, so is SS Morty, pull him tomorrow it’s worth it I promise.  Even without SS Morty, just pick BP Morty as your first draw.  Same defensive buffing but better because both defenses at once, Potion for healing, and goddamned Astonish for flinch rate, with a much easier time investing in him.  Yes I am saying BP Morty is better than SS Blue.  I’ll say all kinds of defensive supports are better than SS Blue.  Dawn is better than SS Blue!  She’s got built-in Vigilance at a time when you don’t have lucky cookies, and a Full Restore, she’s far more effective than Blue at physical tanking.

I think the main problems are

(1) Memories of a bygone era.  SS Blue used to be top dog.  He used to compete.  Nowadays he doesn’t really.  He’s okay at best.  But this nostalgic sense of Genwunnerism is the same shit that resulted in people claiming SS Kris was worse than him a year ago, in the most deranged take to date.  He’s just not that good anymore, bro.

(2) Failure to recall that this is a 1/5 investment.  New players don’t have candy.  New players can’t throw gems at an older unit who’s not available anywhere else.  New Players get this one copy, and make the most of it.  SS Blue, at 1/5, is absolute garbage.  Zero healing.  Zero.  Cannot heal you at all.  They’re also recalling bulk from an EX perspective, and it’s like...man, they don’t have those resources.  And SS Blue is not who I’d pick first if I needed an EX supporter.  It’s the same issue as people who are advocating SS Red over SS Leaf.  They recall an SS Red that was instantly 3/5 and EX because he was the biggest shit the game had at the time.  1/5 SS Red does not melt off-type stages.  He barely competes.

All this to say, for a starting player...man, the answer is SS Leaf no contest.

All three of these idiots are getting benched at higher level play anymore.  Grid expansions can put SS Red back on the map, but that hasn’t happened yet, so it’s unreliable, especially since he is effectively a free unit now, and they don’t take kindly to those.  But for a starting player, with no resources to improve move level or to EX?  Leaf wins every time.

What does SS Blue functionally accomplish for a starting player?  Is he going to single-handedly carry a Gauntlet stage?  Not without sufficiently competent strikers behind him, and even then the lack of any healing is going to put pressure on him.  Keep in mind that Safety Net only works when he takes sync, which is generally a waste if he’s not EX.  And he’s sure as hell not handling CS without good offensive partners.

What does SS Red functionally accomplish?  His 1/5 damage isn’t sufficient for a self-reliant Gauntlet clear.  I can’t get him to beat Gauntlet stages at 3/5 without significant support half the time.  And in CS, he’s again not going to melt stages without his EX and 3/5.  His DPS just isn’t there, and you don’t have sync supporting it either.  When completely uninvested, he doesn’t accomplish much.

What does SS Leaf functionally accomplish?  2500 points in Master Mode, guaranteed.  Stall meta, baby!  Stallmaster Leaf is back!  AoE Toxic and Potion support, are you kidding?  Spend your first BP ticket after like two days of playing on BP Clemont, and you can beat nearly any CS stage at full points.  And for a starting player?  That’s your candy coin.  That’s 30 more powerup tickets.  200 more points anywhere in the run, that’s a full 5* powerup.  That’s functional.  That’s something reliable and consistent every single week.  That’s what you need as a new player.  And frankly, once you start breaking in, Leaf still carries her weight, because some types are just harder to acquire.  She’ll almost always be able to fill in for a type that’s weak in your roster.

It just bothers me how often I have to argue about the merits of SS Leaf as a starting tool, when the other two are only discussed as a nostalgia factor.  They’re not even that good, bro.

#pokemon masters

[perpetual-fool]

Maybe the real abusers were the friends we made along the way. (03/06/23, 1.2k)

   That I recall, no one has actually told me (to my face) that I should kill myself. Not even channers. Nor has anyone told me that I'm a piece of shit. I've gotten "you're being [something I don't understand]" a couple of times, but never directly anything like "you are [a bad person]". So they must've been conclusions I came to naturally as a consequence of others' responses.

   It's probably no different from anything else. Say I'm trying to figure out how to cook eggs. I don't want to use nonstick pans but I don't know how to keep the eggs from sticking. First I'd just try something and observe what happens. Next I'd form some guess as to what's happening based on those observations, and then test those guesses. Ideally I'd isolate variables as much as possible and try it from opposite extremes. Say I think keeping the pan from dropping below a certain temperature would keep things from sticking. First I'd get the pan *really* hot so I can be certain it's enough, and see if that works. Then I'd try the opposite, doing everything else 'correctly' while making the pan far too cold, and see if it fails. If that all goes well, then that's one variable I understand. Finally I'll put it into practice, and if things don't go the way I expect then I start over with a new guess. Observation, analysis, testing, and application.

   And if anything isn't going how I expect, I'm wrong. They eggs can't be wrong, they just are what they are. This has never been a problem with how 'things' work or how the world works. But when considering how people work, they don't. Starting from the beginning, observation, I cannot form any coherent guess as to why they do what they do. Without fail, I run into contradictory elements.

   I am both compelled to try and explain, but also feel.. a hollow panic? from the relentless invalidation I've received every time I've tried to broach the subject with others. I've very much internalized it and I doubt my own sanity. I suspect I would be sure I was insane if the invalidation was actually, well, valid. As it is, it's not my premises or my conclusions that others invalidate. Although that's more unsettling, I think. It's like, premises: someone did a thing (which was bad), they deliberately chose to take the actions they did, and they knew what the outcome of those actions would be. Conclusion: they did the (bad) thing on purpose. And why would they do that? But the response might be something like "maybe they were tired", which has no bearing on anything I've stated. And again, I'm inclined to try and clarify further, as this too has gotten nothing but non sequitur invalidating responses. The excuses are endless. Some of them reasonable, even. Say, "they probably just ran out of time/money", or "this was their first attempt and they didn't know better yet", or "they had a brain fart and just forgot how to do it for a moment". But there isn't a single thing I've seen that doesn't need excusing. And despite bringing this up countless times no one will even acknowledge what I've said. At best people will repeat my position back to me wrong. And they will absolutely argue with me that their version of my position is correct and that my version of my position is wrong. (There was one person that at least appeared to comprehend what I was saying, but they demonstrated that that was entirely superficial the moment I started trusting them.) It doesn't make much sense that everyone else would be insane, so I'm inclined to think it must just be me. And I would probably be convinced of that if others' responses were anything more substantial than "nu-uh".

   So, I've received nothing but relentless invalidation from anyone and everyone. Not that I always saw it that way, being naive. I can't find anything wrong with my reasoning or my observations, and it doesn't make sense that everyone else would be wrong, so I must just be innately invalid.

   Although, I'm not sure why that means I should kill myself. I guess I must've internalized the alienation and abuse. I think in that how others seem to feel about a thing determines how I should feel about it. But only if it's bad, else they either don't know what they're talking about or they're lying; that sounds like it's just an irrational assumption but it isn't. The only 'praise' I've gotten has been for things that don't make sense to me or for something I wasn't doing. Lying, simply that claims don't match actions, as well as just making conflicting claims.  And any 'acceptance' has always come with a threat, demanding that I fit into some kind of role. But intuitively, without any explanation and allowing no questions or mistakes. I think this is just the natural consequence of trying to connect on those terms.

   I've been desperate for genuine understanding, which would be one way of fixing things. But gosh, it's been two decades of trying and I haven't gotten anywhere. Alternatively, maybe I could make myself immune? Not that "stop wanting the thing I'm desperate for" hasn't occurred to me, but I wasn't free to think my own thoughts before. For instance, I've noticed on my bass that notes played on the low string fluctuate substantially, making tuning and playing in tune difficult. I know it's a problem with tension/string gauge because if I tune it up a half step the problem goes away. But it's a standard size bass, with standard sized strings, in a standard tuning. So I'm wrong, the problem must not exist. But I've been practicing with my tuner, training my ear. And I can see the needle wobbling back and forth. It can be as bad as ±20 cents, but if I play too hard that can be as much as 30 cents. In contrast, the other strings fluctuate less than 5 cents, or as much as ten if I pluck hard. The tolerance of my tuner being ±1 cent. Meaning, the phenomenon objectively exists; vindication. I'm tempted to say: to be fair, maybe it's not that people deny its existence, they deny that it's a problem. But I have had people directly deny the existence of phenomena like this. I only get the "you're a piece of shit" voice when I'm trying to connect with someone or something someone has made. Maybe if I only build relationships with objects and otherwise try to stay in 'analysis' mode, then life won't be torment?

[maggicktouched]

Diverging from talking about witches for a hot minute I wanna talk about Daniel and my portrayal of him.

It probably doesn't matter, because the fandom is small and largely inactive in writing and I appear to be mostly blacklisted from it, but it matters to me and a character I write and how I'll handle things as the show goes on (hopefully a long time).

I've seen a fan theory gain traction in the last few days that I don't like. It's cool if you like it, I don't like, think it's toxic or a bad thing to like, but it does bug me. The theory is, essentially, that Daniel's faulty memory is entirely constructed by Armand and I just wanna lay out what I dislike about this theory personally and why I won't engage with it.

One: It doesn't really make sense to me. Devil's Minion lasted around ten years in the book (I think), and I've always been a little on the fence about how I feel about that happening in the show canon. Ten years is a massive span of your life to forget. Even if someone plants ten years of memories (which sounds insane) into your head, you're still going to be lacking things like connections to other people, you're gonna say a lot of weird shit to people who know you that won't add up, and before you say "Armand thought of all that." I'm sorry no he didn't. Armand needed Daniel to teach him how to be more human. He cannot realistically fabricate a decade of life, relationships, achievements, etc without it very obviously being wrong in some ways. Idk maybe you believe that, and you're allowed to, but I think it's so out there that it is kinda laughable.

Two: When did we just all hop on board the "Armand has memory manipulation powers" ship? Anne Rice's vampires are extremely powerful and I guess that's fine, even if I do think things like them being able to think people to death or just instinctively know how to use technology for some unspecified reason is pretty stupid. But it's her lore, it's her rules. However I genuinely don't remember the books saying vampires can alter memories. They can read minds and control minds, they appear to be able to distort perception, but I don't recall memory manipulation being a part of it. And I guess it's fine to add that, but it's weird we've all just auto accepted it as a fandom and then to accept it can be used on such a scale. Ten years of your life.

I'm 31 and if you ask me about people I knew at 21 I would be able to give you pretty decent descriptions. I can tell you about conversations we had, things they liked, places we went together. I can do that for multiple people. I can do that with the type of car I drove. I can remember the places I liked to eat and why. I can tell you when I learned new skills. I can tell you the names of every child I worked with and every animal I met (and I lived in farm land---there were a lot of animals). Am I able to recall every moment? No. No one is. But there is so much that goes into a single memory, better yet hundreds from over the course of a decade. I'm down with Armand being powerful... but that feels like too much. I can't buy into it. Sorry.

Three: Most importantly, there is a single reason I think show Dan is better than book Dan and it's basically the only real difference between the core of the characters. And that's that show Daniel is a person whereas book Daniel really isn't.

Daniel in the books is only really ever there to enhance the story of whatever vampire he's with at the time. He's in the first book for the singular purpose of giving Louis someone to tell a story to. He's in QotD to tell us about Armand's character and, in my opinion, make Armand into a true main character in the cast and not just an ex lover for Louis. We don't really hear about Daniel's life before. He has some creepy visions, he does some alcoholism, he talks about what Armand has been up to, and he talks about how Armand makes him feel. Where's his mom? He's not an old guy. What about his dad? What led him to be a journalist? Where was he born? What does he really like? Because for the most part, aside from some bitching at Armand when Armand pushes the envelope, he is just about as fine with sleeping on a park bench as he is a lavish bed. Because only one thing matters to this Daniel: vampires. There is no real Daniel. There is a narrator. There is a normal dude who we can put ourselves into. Now granted I haven't read QotD in its entirety in years so maybe I'm forgetting things... but I doubt it.

Then he's just gone. He just doesn't matter anymore after QotD not until we get to Marius' book. And I honestly think he's only there in that book to show that Marius has someone to fuck.

I haven't read the newer books.

My point in all of this, what is really important to me about this version of Daniel, why I love him so much even though he doesn't look like the Daniel I imagined all those years reading the books, is that he's a person. He's got his own issues, and he's lived his own life. This Daniel is a whole person. And maybe we won't get to see as much of his life as other characters because he'll likely be pushed to the side in the future, but at least it is implied. At least we have some reason behind how he acts, some clue to how his world was shaped and the things he cares about.

To erase all that just to give Armand a power boost/ability he doesn't even have in the canon is a waste to me. I really hope the show doesn't go that way, and I don't plan on writing that way regardless. You're welcome to like the theory. You're welcome to enjoy it or to go "ha ha I knew it" in my face if it happens. I don't really care. But I won't be writing it because Daniel deserves to get to be more than some sad old man that Armand wants to fuck.

#Daniel Molloy;; write that down. WRITE THAT DOWN! #i'm also not putting this in the tags #because i do not want this to become “beef” #and I'm not gonna argue about something that is whole heartedly my preference #if people like the theory it's genuinely fine #i want zero drama to evolve from this

[dxckgrxsonx]

Your Love is a Riptide

Fandom - DCU - Titans (TV Series)

Pairing - Dick Grayson x Reader Warnings - Graphic Descriptions of Violence - Blood - Swearing - Mentions of Injuries (Stab Wounds) - Heavy Angst - Hurt/Comfort - Fluff - Happy Ending. Word Count - 6.2K Prompts -“I’m fully capable of kicking your ass.” & “it’s because I’m so attractive isn’t it?” “I say this. and I cannot stress this enough. I find you completely repulsive.” Notes - Hello!! This is my first time writing something for the DC fandom. I hope I've not gone wildly out of characterisation for this fic. I'm basing this version of Dick from the Titans series and not the comics. I've had a lot of fun writing this and exploring Dick's character. Please let me know if you enjoyed reading!! 💕

**

‘My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears. You are my home, do you not understand?’

’** You scatter into consciousness in the dark.

It’s cold and wet and the dim flickering light from a nearby streetlamp throws your blurry vision into an awful contrast of black and red and hideous yellow.

There’s a continuous pulse of warmth radiating from your side and your hand pats clumsily at your clothes, fingers trembling over your ribs. Your brain shouts that something is wrong, that you’re hurting and in pain. But half of you is underwater, your own thoughts trapped behind a wall of exhaustion.

The panic breathes into you slowly.

It rises like water in a trapped room. Bubbling up higher and higher until it flows in through your mouth, down your throat and into your lungs where it catches on every nerve ending in your chest. It burns and twists like a thousand needles along your spine, poking and prodding until it hits that one single nerve that catapults you into fight or flight.

Your fingers trip over something hard, something unyielding, something wrong.

Under the endless darkness of the Gotham sky you tremble, gasp open mouthed and desperate for air. Your breath won’t come and the act of expanding your chest sends agony rippling through your bones.

Crumpled over on your side against a dark brick wall you feel the rain wash over your face, clothes soaking up the water like a dry sponge. You’re shivering and as your muscles contract to generate heat you moan lowly on the edge of passing out from the pain. Everything around you shudders and ripples, the rain falls heedlessly into your eyes blurring everything into nothing at all.

If you focus–if you listen hard enough, you can hear the rush of cars, black tires splashing through puddles across the roads. There’s voices echoing not far from where you are and you’re immediately torn between asking for help or hiding.

You correct yourself within an instant.

It’s Gotham, you say to yourself. There’s no help to be found here. Anyone with half a brain knows that you stay out of danger by keeping to yourself. Ignore anything and everything that doesn’t involve you. Keep your head down. Don’t stay out after dark. Always have an escape route planned no matter where you are.

The constant need to catalogue an escape is exhausting.

Everything about the city is exhausting.

You’re so tired.

There’s blood in your mouth and the taste makes you want to be sick, stomach rolling and rolling and you force back the bile rising bitter at the back of your throat; you don’t have time for this.

Blood slick fingers press along your ribs, searching for the thick blade wedged between the curved bones. You vaguely recall the flash of metal before it punched through your skin, remember the lightning fast ‘oh shit’ feeling in your gut.

With a shudder, you remember the wild look in the eyes of the one who did this to you, remember that crazed smile tugging at thin lips before they twisted the blade to shove your ribs apart. The sound you made echos in your head, that high, thin wail of pain. That desperate wet gasp for air that followed.

You should have stopped it before it happened. You’re trained better than that.

Nudging the handle of the knife you choke back a sob. The miniscule shift scrapes the sharp edge of the blade against your bone and your vision whites out at the edges. Blood leaks from the wound with each breath and you know that removing the knife is a horrible idea but your brain shouts and shouts and shouts.

It shouldn’t be there.

Take it out, take it out, take it out.

You have to fight every snarling impulse not to reach for it. If you take it out you’ll bleed to death. You’re already dying, it howls. It shouldn’t be there, it’s killing you. You’re going to die. Tears stream down your face, mixing easily with the rain. You want to swipe them away, but you feel almost boneless–maybe even drunk.

In your pocket your phone starts to ring, the shrill chime of it grabbing you hard by the shoulders and shaking you back into awareness.

Reaching for it with your free hand it takes three attempts to hold it without dropping it. Staring at the screen you blink away the water in your eyes to focus on the name, to see who’s calling you.

NW.

Your finger swipes to accept the call and you refuse to think too much about the long streak of blood you leave across the screen.

“Hey–” You slur as a greeting, eyes slowly drooping shut, “Did you know that–uh–” Swallowing back the blood in your mouth you wheeze, chest burning, “Gotham fucking sucks.”

“Where are you? Are you hurt?” Nightwing questions immediately, hardly pausing to take in a breath, “You were supposed to report in twenty minutes ago.”

The sheer relief at hearing his voice threatens to split you in half. There’s always been something about his voice that files the sharp edges of your fears smooth, chases away the unease clouding your head. He’s always kept you safe, never once faltered in keeping you away from danger.

And you had to go and fuck it up.

A sob catches hard in your throat, “I–uh–shit…I’m sorry.” You heave, fingers skirting around the edges of the blade between your ribs. “I fucked up, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m s–” Your legs jerk as you knock the handle of the knife, a low moan of pain escaping your lips, “I’m sorry, please, you’ve gotta know, I didn’t want this to happen.”

The world spins through your eyes, edges of your vision darkening. Everything feels so far away, you’re not even cold anymore. Your hand drops, phone moving away from your ear. Distantly, you can hear Nightwing shouting your name through the tiny phone speaker.

“--ang on, okay? I’m on my way.”

He’s coming, you whisper to yourself, fingers swiping through the rain and blood pooling around you. The light of your phone draws your fading attention, he’s still on the line, he hasn’t hung up. For a brief moment you wonder if he knows where you are. In a fit of panic you reach for the device, only to whine when the movement pulls on your wound.

He calls your name again, something hard and unyielding in his voice. The tone is demanding, relentless, it kicks part of you half awake, a soft, submissive side you didn’t realise reacted to him like that.

Dragging the phone to your ear you exhale heavily, “I don’t know where I am–oh god, I don’t–where am I?”

“Breathe,” Nightwing orders, “Can you do that for me? Just breathe, I’m almost there.”

A weight sits on your chest, you struggle to inhale. The mere act of breathing forces the metal between your ribs to shift and you want to scream, want to yank it out and just be done with it. Adrenaline continues to ripple through your veins, you’re shaking very finely all over. Your clothes are soaked all the way through, you feel disgusting.

“Ho–how do you know…” You trail off, it’s too much effort to speak.

He’s always been clever, smart mouth and an even smarter mind. That quick, blinding spark inside his chest making everything dim in comparison. He’s almost electric, a raw flash of lightning in your hands. All blue and bright and powerful.

“Tracker in your phone,” He answers, always quick to catch on to what you mean, “As long as you keep it on, I’ll know where you are.”

A sweeping wave of tiredness washes over you, each blink gets longer and longer until you feel yourself drifting off. Starling awake your entire body flails, muscles jerking. A heaving wail rips up your throat, the pain feels alive inside you, something conscious searching for what makes you tick.

Movement blurs through your peripheral, you almost smile before realisation dawns.

You could recognise the way Nightwing walks anywhere. In life, in death and everywhere in between. You know his gait, the weight behind each step, the smooth, effortless way he shifts from heel to toe. Practised, rehearsed, overwhelmingly efficient.

The person approaching you isn’t Nightwing.

“Oh fuck.” You whisper into your phone, trying to move into a more defensible position.

Above you, someone snickers, an amused drawl tightening around your throat. Using the wall behind you for leverage you attempt to pull yourself into a sitting position, try to face the threat head on. But your body fails you as soon as you try, muscles far too weak to support yourself.

The figure crouches down, pale fingers reaching towards your phone.

“I’ll be taking this.”

Your body stiffens as soon as you hear his voice. That cruel undertone bleeding into every word. It’s the sound of someone who wants to hurt, who actively seeks it out. It’s the wet sound of your breath as you try to breathe around the knife in your chest. It’s the satisfied chuckle as you slump to the dirty ground, body halfway into shock.

He fiddles with your phone before dropping it onto the ground, shattering the screen and silencing the sound of Nightwings voice.

“I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive, sweetheart. Thought you would have bled out by now.”

You grin, “Fuck you.”

Rage twists his face into a sneer seconds before he backhands you in the mouth, hard. Your bottom lip splits on impact and the resounding jolt it causes makes you flinch. There’s pain everywhere, your whole world won’t stop spinning;

His hand is reaching for the knife.

“No!” You shout, hand moving to bat his own away. “Please—don’t…please.”

Leaning over you he curls one hand around your neck, holding you down. Thrashing beneath him you cry out weakly, desperately trying to shove him off. In response he tightens his hold and you gasp, air dragging horribly through your throat.

You’re shaking, the lack of control you have over the situation almost makes you sick.

“Don’t move too much, you’ll only make it worse.” He coos, breath fanning over your cheek, “You know, it’s such a shame you got caught sticking your nose into someone else's business, but maybe this will teach you a lesson, huh?”

In one single move he grabs the ridged handle of the knife and yanks it out. The thick blade scrapes against your ribs as it’s pulled out and you scream, legs kicking out violently, vision folding black at the edges. Tightening his hold around your throat he cuts off your air and your screams trail off to a strangled wheeze.

“There you go,” He murmurs, eyes alight with glee, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Slapping at the hand around your neck you try to pry his fingers loose but he doesn’t budge, just stares down, eyes wide and unblinking, thin lips stretched into a grin. You think that if you survive this, every time you close your eyes you’ll see him. Hear his voice carving itself into your skull.

Your pulse pounds in your ears, you can feel the blood thrumming through the thick vein in your neck.

You’re going to pass out.

Dying in a back alley in the middle of Gotham was never really something that crossed your mind. Naively, you didn’t really think you’d die at all. Always set on the idea that death couldn’t touch you. Whether that was because you thought your training made you invincible, or because you thought that wherever you went, Nightwing would be by your side.

You’re such a fucking idiot.

Maybe dying isn’t such a bad thing.

The streetlamp flickering at the edge of the alley suddenly explodes in a hail of glass, plunging the alley into darkness. The man above you releases your neck and you suck in a full breath before dissolving into a coughing fit. Reflectively shoving him away from you, you throw your bleeding body into gear and heave yourself into a sitting position.

“What the fuck?” The man whispers, blood slick knife clenched tight in his hand.

Inside the darkness is a quick flash of blue, a sizzle of crackling electricity. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. There’s something buzzing under your skin, you want to blame it on the rush of blood to your brain but somehow, you don’t think that’s it.

Pressing a hand to your side you attempt to staunch the flow of blood. It oozes between your clenched fingers, dribbling over your hand and down your clothes. With how heavily you’re bleeding, you’re surprised you haven’t fallen unconscious.

“Stay the fuck back!” The man yells into the dark, pulling your attention back to the rippling pulse of blue light. “I’m warning you, jackass!” He flips the knife through his fingers, settling it into a more aggressive hold.

You wonder why he’s so afraid, why he’s so aggressive and defensive and holding that knife like it’s the one thing keeping him alive. He was choking the life from you seconds ago and now he looks like he’s staring death in the face. Your head spins and spins until your eyes find him through the dark.

Blue light highlights his silhouette, the black of his suit bleeding into the shadows.

Nightwing looks like something out of a nightmare.

When you first met him–back when he was Robin–you lay witness to a certain type of anger bubbling under his skin. A quiet, endless fury that stemmed from some horrible, wounded part of him. A part that on the surface didn’t look like much, but as you got deeper, it turned into a gaping open wound; all festering and weeping and painful.

He was so young and in so much pain and it took a long time to find out the cause of it, to find the centre of that crippling hole wedging a dagger into his chest.

It was grief.

You look at him now, through the rain and the tears and the blood sliding warm over the backs of your knuckles and you see that rage return. It sits along each vertebrae in his spine, almost like it’s a part of him;

Like it never really left at all.

Nightwing unsheathes both ecrisma sticks and twirls them through deft fingers. The crackling burst of light forces your heart to skip a beat, you never tire of watching him wield those sticks like an extension of himself. The talent and skill that goes into every single move makes you lightheaded.

He’s incredible.

The fight is quick and bloody and no matter how many times you hear it, the snap of a bone makes your skin crawl. It’s something about the unnatural crack of it, the fact that something that’s not supposed to bend, is forced to until it breaks.

It’s about the burst of blood, and the flash of white and the gut wrenching howl that chases.

You remember the first time you heard it, that ugly break of a bone. You were young, and scared and ripped halfway into fight or flight before you knew what a panic response was. Violence was something you grew up with, something that settled in the back of your head as normal, maybe even expected.

Towards the end, you could pick out the sound of fists to flesh better than the echo of your own voice.

Part of you thought you could handle it, that defiant ‘I have to prove myself’ part was set on the idea that it would be easy, that it wouldn’t mess you up from the inside out. You’re no stranger to being wrong, to having the rug pulled from under your feet. But that haunting snap follows you and has done since you were a child.

You’d caused it after all.

You snapped the bone, forced it to bend when it wouldn’t…shouldn’t. Did it for approval, for praise. For that fleeting moment of control before it was taken away again. Every time you hear that sound, hear the wet punch of bone through flesh you remember.

You would have done anything they asked of you.

Maybe that’s why your skin crawls when you hear it.

Your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

**

Cold hands cradle your face, tense fingers sweeping along your hairline, down your cheeks, over your jaw. The sensation startles you hard enough to jolt forwards, fists coming up to hit anyone close enough. A flash of that cruel, thin lipped smile appears in your head. Pain bursts around your throat, over your ribs, in your mouth.

You slam open your eyes and swing without waiting for your brain to catch up.

“Woa–woah.” Nightwing breathes, catching your fist in the palm of his hand. He keeps his full attention on you, not once wavering despite the rain and the cold. “I’ve got you. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

There's a lump in your throat, you try to pull your hand back but he doesn’t give, just holds it there; firm and warm and steady. You’re crying, tears track down your cheeks, your lip is bleeding. Nightwing darts his eyes over your face, you can’t actually see his eyes through his domino mask but you can read his body language well enough.

“M’sorry,” You whisper. Shame settles heavy between your shoulder blades, you feel less like a friend and more of a burden. “I never wanted this to happen…I should have been better. They tra—I was trained to be better than this.”

Dark hair sticks to his forehead, rain sliding along his temples and down to his chin. The amount of focus in his posture makes you uneasy, you’ve never handled his full, undivided attention well. Nightwing has always been clever, even back when he was Robin he had this uncanny ability to just know what you mean, to understand the little tells your body gives away without you knowing.

It used to scare you.

To be known is to be predicted, and being predicted can lead to failure.

But over time and through the years you’ve known him–as both Nightwing and as Robin. You’ve come to appreciate the skill behind his eyes, to understand that not everyone is a threat. Sometimes, you think that Nightwing knows you better than you know yourself.

“Shh, you don’t have to explain.” He says, low and gentle, head moving to get a look at where you’re clutching at your side. “You’re bleeding, can I take a look?”

Your first instinct is to pull away, refuse, hide your wounds so they can’t be used against you. There’s always that lingering sense of ‘you can’t trust anyone’. It was beaten into you as a child and even now, years later, you can’t really seem to let it go.

But it’s Nightwing, you reason with that wounded child inside you. It’s Nightwing and he’s never once hurt you.

“Yeah, okay.” You finally answer. His shoulders drop just a fraction, a miniscule movement most wouldn’t catch. But you know him, and that slight shift reveals everything. “M’sorry if I bleed all over you.”

“Well…” He smiles, still holding onto your hand. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’d bled all over me, right?”

Tugging up your clothes the wound comes into view. Jagged slices of skin split apart under a thick metal blade. Blood seeps steadily down your side, the wound is almost gaping from where the knife was twisted to shove your ribs apart.

Letting go of your hand he shuffles forwards, fingers prodding at your side and over your ribs. His focus increases tenfold and a frown twists his face when you jolt, body trying to run from the pain.

“I know, I know.” Nightwing mumbles, trying to reassure that alarmed look on your face. “Let's get you somewhere warm and dry, huh? I’ll need to put a few stitches in you but the good news is nothing seems broken.”

Reaching out one hand, you touch your shaking fingers to his forehead and swipe away the wet strands of hair settled there. Nightwing sags forwards under your touch and you notice then, just how tired he looks. Adrenaline is an incredible response to danger, but you know that sometimes the come down is worse than the danger it protects you from.

“Okay, let’s go.”

**

Shoving open the door to the safehouse you collapse onto your knees.

Pain radiates throughout your ribcage, blinding heat and endless stinging pulling at the very edges of your sanity. It would have been easier to pass out, you think, head pounding. One hand claps around the wound and presses down hard, trying to give your body something else to focus on rather than the repeated, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Behind you, Nightwing locks the door before sweeping in at your side. He slings your free arm over his shoulder and shoves you to your feet.

“Almost there.” He reassures as you hiss in pain, side pulsing and burning, blood sticking to the inside of your shirt. “Gonna drop you at the sofa then grab the first-aid kit, okay?”

Glancing at the side of his face you raise a questioning brow, mouth twitching into a slight frown.

Catching your eye through his mask he sighs, loudly, “Don’t fuckin’ look at me like that, I know you don’t like it when someone doesn’t explain what they’re doing…especially when you’re injured.”

Darting your gaze away to throw a glance through the safehouse you feel heat rise in your cheeks, “Didn’t realise you caught onto that.”

“Of course I did,” Nightwing mumbles, readjusting your arm over his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, I like to know too, helps with planning out contingencies in case something goes wrong.”

Not for the first time, you think that Nightwing knows you better than you know yourself. The thought should make you feel uneasy, should fire up those specific alarms in your head that warn you of attachment, maybe even fondness. But instead, the only thing you feel is endless relief.

“Fuuuck.” You whine, breath coming out in short pants. Your feet scrape over the floor and briefly, almost in a haze, you realise how much of yourself is resting on Nightwing. The strength in his muscles throws your brain into a loop it can’t quite get out of. “You do remember where the first-aid kit is, right?”

Huffing on a short laugh he drops you onto the sofa, “Under the sink–where I left it. Second one is wedged between the bed and the nightstand.”

“Show off.”

Giving you a quick smile he spins on his heel and moves to find the bathroom. Watching his back as he leaves you rove your eyes over the tightness of his shoulders, the heavy way he clenches his hands into fists. Even his steps seem louder, like he can’t contain something inside himself.

He’s still angry.

You wonder, for a split second, if the man who did this to you is still alive.

Struggling to your feet, you swallow back the groan of pain rising in the back of your throat as your stab wound pulls. Kicking off your shoes you tuck them away around the edge of the sofa and move to grab at the hem of your shirt. Lifting it up the hem brushes the bottom of your wound and you can’t fight the tiny whimper that slips past your clenched teeth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Dropping your shirt to settle back where it was, you shift to face Nightwing–still in his mask. “Taking my shirt off.”

His jaw tightens and you sigh, body quickly succumbing to exhaustion. You’re ready to sleep for a solid ten hours after this. Adrenaline sucks after the fight is over. Stepping forwards, Nightwing drops the first-aid kit on the sofa and then moves to stand in front of you, fingers twitching at his sides.

“You should have asked me to help. Moving too much will cause more damage.”

The sarcastic retort twisting on your tongue dissolves as one hand comes forwards and he starts playing with a loose thread at the bottom of your shirt. You wonder for a moment if the action was intentional. If he moved into your personal space and did an act so mundane, so tender, that you would give without a fight.

You wouldn’t put it past him, he’s always been tuned in to people's weaknesses, knows how to get his own way.

“Can you help?” You ask, smothering a yawn into your fist.

Trailing the tips of your fingers over Nightwings hand you wait patiently as he goes silent. Sweeping down each of his fingers with your thumb you twist to stroke over his inner wrist. Finding his pulse point you press gently and count in your head, mentally calculating his heart rate.

Slightly higher than normal.

Tapping your finger at his pulse point your mouth quirks at the edges when his breath hitches.

“Hmm?” He finally answers.

“Can you help me take my shirt off? Y’know, so you can stitch up this stab wound that’s still bleeding.”

“Shit–sorry, yeah of course.”

Warm fingers skirt up your sides as Nightwing lifts your damp shirt. The fabric drags over your skin and the sensation makes you shudder. Revealing the wound all over again makes you want to shrink away. Under the warm light of the safehouse you can see it for what it really is.

An ugly mess of skin tinged red.

You’re no stranger to wounds, or scars, or blood. Growing up within an organisation that places the success of an assignment over everything else does that to you. Your body is littered with scars, blemishes, patches of skin stitched sloppily together. Some from when you were a child. Others from your time trying to find your place in the world.

And now, you’ve got another to add to the collection.

“He really got you good with that knife.” Nightwing says under his breath, pausing in his movements to look at your side. “I’m surprised it didn’t puncture your lung.”

Humming quietly in agreement you smile bitterly, “Guess I got lucky.”

He gives you a funny look, something unreadable written in the lines of his face. It fills you with unease that sometimes you can’t get a single read on him. Can’t look at him and figure out what’s going through his head. If he doesn’t want you to know what he’s thinking, you won’t ever know.

Once again, his skill blows you away. Every time you think you have him pinned, he shows you another way he has control.

Your shirt hits the floor with a wet smack, water quickly seeping into the carpet. Kicking it towards the kitchen, Nightwing moves to grab the first-aid kit. Pulling out a thick wad of gauze and saline he kneels at your side so he’s at eye level with the wound.

Methodically cleaning the area you fight the blinding urge to flinch each time the gauze swipes over your skin.

“This is gonna hurt.” Nightwing advises, looking up to catch your gaze. In his hand is a tube of saline, the cap twisted off and hovering at the opening of your wound, “I need to make sure there’s no debris caught inside before I stitch you up.”

You think of the times when you were a child, sobbing and bleeding and trying to fix up your wounds as best you could. Needle and thread shaking in your tiny fist as some part of you bleeds and bleeds and bleeds.

They never cared much about tending to wounds that weren’t life threatening, always leaving you to fix yourself up under the guise of a lesson. Like they taught you how to do anything other than hurt.

‘The only way to survive in this world is to be self-reliant.’

Grabbing the saline straight out of Nightwing’s hand you close your eyes and flush the wound. The pain ignites inside you, almost like you’re being stabbed all over again. All the nerves fire collectively and your knee wobbles, dangerously close to collapsing out from underneath you.

A warm hand circles your shaking knee, holding it in place and offering temporary stability as you tremble. A soft noise of surprise escapes your mouth at the feeling and you open your eyes to see Nightwing already looking up at you, mouth pinched into a frown.

His free hand mops up the saline running down your side and he dumps the ruined gauze into a heap on the carpet.

“Why’d you do that?” He asks.

You can’t quite look him in the eye when you answer, “I–They never really cared much about–uh–minor wounds. Anything that wasn’t immediately life threatening was left to us to sort. I guess over time it was just easier to deal with it alone.” Tapping your fingers against your thigh you finally meet his gaze, something bitter lodging itself halfway up your throat, “Pain means nothing–they made it nothing–you should have just flushed the wound.”

Breaking eye contact you tip your head back and stare at the off white ceiling. There’s something wounded cutting up your insides. Even after all this time, you still can’t shake off what they taught you. You still can’t properly trust anyone besides yourself.

“They might not have cared, but I do.” Nightwing says after a careful silence. “You don’t have to deal with everything alone, you know?”

Opening and closing your mouth you search for the right words but they refuse to come. You’ve been trained on how to respond to things like this, they drilled it into your skull to ensure no one comes close enough to form an attachment. There’s sentences rolling around in your mouth, practised, rehearsed sentences that are easy and safe.

But Nightwing deserves better than that.

“I don’t—” The words stick to the roof of your mouth, your chest heaves with the weight of them. It feels like cutting yourself open with a dull blade. “Sometimes, I don’t know how to be anything other than what they made me.”

Nightwing taps your thigh, his fingers settling just below where your own drums against the muscle in an anxious rhythm. Peering down you watch as he removes his hand to peel open a clean dressing and stick it over your stitched up side.

You didn’t feel a damn thing.

You wonder for a split second if you’re broken.

Cleaning up the first-aid supplies he smoothly gets to his feet, standing close enough that you feel the comforting heat of him even through his suit. His domino mask still sits on his face, covering his eyes and keeping that barrier between you. Your fingers twitch at your sides, breath shallow.

Swallowing thickly at the weight of his gaze you wince when your throat flickers with discomfort.

Raising his hand, Nightwing sweeps his fingers over your neck, cataloguing the bruises settling there. The featherlight touch makes something inside you ache. Tenderness isn’t something you come across often, it's always been about finding your opening and striking and relishing in the pained noises that follow.

It’s never been about warm fingers tracing the marks left behind from someone else. It’s never been about watching Nightwing’s hand shake like he’s touching something forbidden, something precious.

Your hands move of their own accord, fingers finding each side of his mask and pausing, waiting for him to tell you that this is okay. That he wants this too. Part of you feels selfish for wanting to remove his mask, to see him under the soft light of the safehouse.

But another part is yearning, pleading to see him. To see the face of the man who cares, who said you don’t have to be alone anymore.

He slides his fingers to the back of your neck, twisting his fist into your hair and just holding you there. Face to face, close enough that his exhale brushes your cheek. The close proximity makes you dizzy, you want to sway. Your eyes flutter closed for half a second when he tugs at your hair, bliss settling along each notch of your spine.

You feel weightless.

“S’okay,” Nightwing whispers, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “You can take it off.”

Opening your eyes you peel the mask from his face and–

Oh.

There he is.

“Hi.” You smile, like you’re seeing him for the first time all over again.

Dick ducks his head to break eye contact, a bashful little grin lighting up his face. When he looks back up his eyes are glittering, all soft and electric and filled with something unspoken. You try to turn your head, try to focus on something other than the way he looks at you, focus on anything but the heavy fluttering of your heart behind your ribs. It’s hard to look at him when he looks at you like that.

His fist tightens and your breath hitches, a soft moan balancing on the tip of your tongue. He won’t let you move your head away from him, the control he has over you makes you weak in the knees. You wait for the panic, the horrible wrench in your gut when you realise you’re not in control. But it never comes because Dick Grayson is safe. He’s safe and in control and you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

Resting your arms over his shoulders, your free hand plays with the damp strands of hair at the nape of his neck. A small shudder rocks his sturdy frame and you fight to keep the coy smile off your face.

In retaliation he gives your hair a sharp tug and you gasp, pupils blowing wide.

Studying you quietly a smirk plays at the edges of his mouth, “Never would have guessed you like having your hair pulled.”

Heat crawls up your neck, “I’m fully capable of kicking your ass.”

“It’s because I'm so attractive isn’t it?”

Dropping his mask to the ground it lands with a muffled thud. Cupping his cheeks with both hands you press your thumb against his lower lip. Darting your eyes over his pretty mouth you wet your lips and lean in close, ignoring the quiet hitch of Dick’s breath and the firm hand that circles your hip.

Lowering your voice to a charged whisper you exhale, “I say this, and I cannot stress this enough. I find you completely repulsive.”

Raising an eyebrow Dick pulls back and you swallow, stomach fluttering at the wild look in his eye. A calm focus overtakes his features and you know from experience that whatever he does next will take you apart. Dick is nothing but prepared and meticulous. Always in control and ten steps ahead of anyone else.

Opening his mouth to no doubt say something that’ll leave you on your knees his phone starts to ring.

“Fuck.” Dick growls under his breath, one hand reaching for the phone to stop it ringing. “I’m gonna have to go.”

Nodding quietly you run your tongue along the backs of your teeth, “Yeah, I know, crime doesn’t stop, not even for one night.” You smile, “Uh–thank you, by the way, for…for saving me. I’m not sure what would have happened if…” You trail off, the words won’t come.

Grabbing your chin between his thumb and pointer finger he holds you firm, unwavering. Something dangerous ignites in his eyes, something furious and protective, “He won’t ever hurt you again, okay?”

Looking away you focus on the wall over Dick’s shoulder.

“Look at me.” He orders, his voice is unyielding. He squeezes your jaw until you meet his eye, “He won’t ever hurt you again.”

Relief almost splits you in half, tears well up along your lower lashes and you try to blink them away before they trail down your cheeks. There’s a lump in your throat and not once, in all the time of knowing him, have you ever felt so thankful to have Dick Grayson in your life.

Tipping forwards he releases his hold of your jaw and you throw your arms over his shoulders. Without missing a single beat Dick winds his arms around your waist and holds you close. He’s strong and warm and safe and even though the harsh material of his suit irritates your skin you’ve never felt more at home.

Tucking your face into the crook of his neck you sigh, one hand gently combing through his hair. Placing your lips at the shell of his ear you whisper a soft little thank you, the words only audible to you and him.

Leaning back after a comfortable silence Dick presses a tender kiss to your forehead and your heart swells at least three sizes.

“You don’t need to be what they made you.” He says, looking you in the eye. “You just need to be you. That’s enough.”

Placing the palm of your hand on his chest–right over his heart, you hope he understands how much he means to you. You can’t quite give a name to the blinding warmth in your stomach. You’re not sure what love feels like. But in your head, you think it feels a lot like this.

Looking up, you trace the lines of his face and his soft little smile washes over you like the dawn–

Oh.

There he is.

**

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #titans x reader #dc titans #dc universe #dc #titans #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #titans fanfiction #titans fanfic #ella writes

[firewoodfigs]

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

                                       +++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort. 

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows  he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #sorry my lunch break is almost over so I gotta go back to work LOL but I will come back and edit this later AHAHAHAH #my new brand is 'excessive usage of chess metaphors' and man. it shows....... #lovely anon <3 #have a great week anon!!! mwahmwahmwah!!!!!! #reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

[angelguk]

you guys remember that video of jaykay walking around with his chain swinging from his neck... yeah anon said that video but make it jock!jk. oc is horny and who can blame her. we’re in university now folks. jk being a good friend. not edited (but tbh when is my work ever edited). 1k. listen to art class by beabadoobee.

You cannot recall a single word that has left Jeongguk’s lips in the past five minutes. You should be concentrating though — he’d been kind enough to explain thermodynamics to you. Somehow, despite your widely different majors, you’d both been thrown into the hell that was Professor Kim’s chemistry class. The only difference between the two of you right now was that Jeongguk understood what Gibson's Free Energy meant while you, unfortunately, did not.

“See,” he says, honey gaze locking on you. “It’s not that difficult.”

The huff you release is laced with fury. “Easy for you to say. You understand his horrendous teaching method.”

“Kim isn’t that horrible of a teacher,” Jeongguk returns. You don’t blink as he runs a stray hand through his chestnut curls. He’s overdue for a cut but after your persistent badgering, he’d agreed to grow it out again. The problem was that he looked good with his hair tumbling into his face. He always looked good, to be frank, but the consistent sweeping of his hair back was doing something funny to your stomach. Not that you were willing to acknowledge that.

There’s a fast and dangerous swoop in your gut the second Jeongguk leans into your space, crowding over your huddled figure. “Look,” he says, deft tongue swiping over his petal lips. His finger traces an equation from your textbook but you’re not looking at that. You really couldn’t give a shit about chemistry right now. All because Jeongguk’s chain is dangling before your eyes. It’s a pretty silver pendant, glinting in the harsh fluorescents hanging above, and engraved with something you can’t decipher as it gently sways before your vision. His cologne hits a second later, swathing around you like a warm lazy hug. You nearly give in, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs squeeze together beneath the library table. He’s so close, just one inch forward and your face would be buried in the hollow of his neck. A neck bulked up by years of consistent gym routines and playing match after match of lacrosse. You can’t help the wandering gaze. Even underneath the billowy material of his sweatshirt, you can see how broad he is, wide shoulders and thick biceps encroaching into your space.

It happens too fast for you to muffle the fantasy out. How nice he would feel on top of you, his chain cold against your warm skin as your bodies met, delicate metal swaying gently to the sound of him inside of you, his wide palms pinning you down tight until you felt the phantom of them there tomorrow, the —

“Hello? Y/N? Did you get it?” Jeongguk’s voice is alien, slicing through the core of your longing unforgivingly. 

“What?” And just like that it’s gone, evaporated into nothing as your vision clears, Jeongguk staring at you expectedly as the faint ticking of the library clock reaches your ears. “Huh? Wait — yes I got it. Um, yeah it makes sense now.”

There’s a pause as he stares at you, brown eyes brimming with that tender doe-eyed gaze of his. The one that has seen through every charade you’ve ever attempted to trick him with. He must know.

“You sure?” He says as he cocks his head. Something violently blooms and dies inside of you simultaneously. He knows. He knows and you don’t know how that makes you feel. He must have seen the distance in your eyes, saw how you looked at him. You’d never been good at hiding things, especially from Jeongguk. But your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, brain incapable of forming a believable lie. What could you say to your best friend when you’d been fantasising about him right in front of him? What is there to say? Sorry for thinking you’re really hot? Sorry for wanting you as more than a friend? 

It’s stupid and you know it yet your mouth is falling open involuntarily. But he catches you, his words blocking yours diverting the path of your relationship from a dangerous ending. 

“I know you’re used to teaching me stuff,” he softly starts, tone cautious. “I get that. But it’s okay not to understand things, Y/N. You don’t have to know everything. I can help you out whenever you don’t, you know that right?” 

If you could scream in the middle of a library you would. But that would get you kicked out and honestly, you need to study. But here he was, thinking your hesitation and lack of focus was from embarrassment. If anyone had a golden soul it was him. And that’s what makes it a million times worse. Because Jeongguk was everything you could never be. Everything and more.

You bite your tongue, head bowed in a shame that he misreads.

“Y/N?”

It takes a minute for the thought to form, a lapse of time in which you think your heart shatters a little bit. “Jeongguk,” you murmur, eyes rising to meet his. “I’d never doubt that you wouldn’t be there to help me. We’ve been friends for too long for me to ever think that. I’m just really frustrated with myself. But I’ve got the concept now. Thank you for explaining it. I appreciate this.”

The smile he gives you could make a cloudy sky clear. “You really sure? I know it’s rushed but I gotta head to a society meeting in, like, ten minutes.”

You nod, clicking your pen because for some reason this hurts. “Yeah, yeah I got it. You should go. Thanks, Gukkie.”

He shrugs, plucking his backpack off the table. Another sweep of his fingers through his hair, a bright smile still gracing his perfect lips. There’s the hint of his dimples peeking through his cheeks. You wish he didn’t look like that. 

“Anytime, bunny. You know I got you.”

And then he’s off, waving you farewell as he weaves through the shelves and out the library doors. You don’t miss the murmurs that follow, the silent whispers of his name. Jeon Jeongguk. The university's star lacrosse player. The president of the Student Sports Committee. The hottest guy on campus. And somehow, the best-friend you might have a crush on.

It’s with a heavy sigh that you return to your assignment, the grip on your pen taunt. Maybe you should look into ordering that vibrator Sieun talked about earlier today. Maybe. 

#jungkook x reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #im posting nd going to sleep #if this is bad im SORRY my head is empty its 2am #au: jock!jaykay

[bubblegumbeech]

Stumbling in your Sleep

Phic Phight prompt fill for @the-only-wife

It was the ticking sound that woke him.

Danny yawned, blinking sleep out of his eyes and stretching out his sore muscles. Looking around only served to confuse him though. He wasn’t in his room anymore, and he wasn’t downstairs either (which sometimes happened with his body’s penchant to fall through not only his bed, but the floor). He was in a large, heavily shadowed room that was on the edge of familiar, and it was taking him a moment to place it in his sleep fogged mind.

“It’s not healthy to fixate on what could have been,” came a deep, familiar voice from behind him.

Startled, Danny spun around to see Clockwork floating a few feet away. He was in his eldest form, long knitted beard and all, and was gazing past Danny towards something further in the room.

Following that gaze, Danny saw what exactly Clockwork had been talking about and flinched, flying quickly away from it and over towards the Ancient.  

It was a Thermos, horridly familiar and just- sitting there on a pillow as if for display.

“How did I get here?” Danny asked, putting Clockwork between himself and that thing .

Clockwork hummed, stroking his beard a moment before slowly answering, “I suppose, the likely answer is that you were having a nightmare.” He lowered a hand to Danny’s shoulder and led him out of the room and back into a more familiar part of the clock tower. “Let’s get you some tea before I send you home, it might calm your nerves.”

Danny followed, eager for distance, before asking, “the likely answer? Does that mean you don’t know?”

“Despite what you and certain others seem to think, I am neither omniscient nor a mind reader, I cannot see into your dreams,” Clockwork said and Danny chuckled softly. “Besides, Nocturn would likely be unappreciative if I was interfering in his domain.”

“You know Nocturn?” Danny asked stopping and tugging lightly on Clockwork’s cloak so that he’d stop as well.

He did, lifting one of his eyebrows and answering with a dry tone, “of course I do, I know everyone.”

Because of course he did. It wasn’t like he didn’t just tell Danny that he wasn’t omniscient, that was clearly a different skill set to someone as determined to be mysterious as Clockwork. Danny found himself wondering if the intrigue surrounding the older ghost was not mostly of his own creation, an attempt at seeming aloof and beyond comprehension while simultaneously laughing behind everyone else’s backs.

A wash of amusement filtered through the ambient ectoplasm of Clockwork’s lair and Danny scowled up at him, “I thought you weren’t a mind reader?”

Clockwork tried to hide his smile, unsuccessfully, and nodded, “I do not need to be, to hear the accusations you make towards me,” he guided Danny to the main room of the tower where the screens were kept along with the relatively recent addition of a couch and coffee table. There was warm tea, purple and slightly glowing, already waiting for them.

“So I’m right then? You are just messing with us all the time?” Danny grabbed his own cup, dubious, Clockwork wouldn’t poison him right? He would know whether a half ghost could drink something if anyone did.

If Danny was expecting an answer, he’d be dissapointed, but when a ghost spent enough time with the mysterious Ancient it became increasingly clear that straight answers were not something they would get  in large supply. So instead he rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea, Clockwork could be as obnoxious as he wanted after saving Danny’s family like he did.

The least Danny could do in return, was accept his eccentricities.

“Do you remember your dream?” Clockwork asked and Danny shook his head. There were bits and pieces, sure. Certain emotions and feelings that flashed to the surface when he closed his eyes or tried to think about it. He’d never been good at trying to recall something once he was awake, and despite Jazz once offering to buy him a dream journal to ‘help him decode his inner turmoils’ he’d never felt the need to try and change that.

He sighed into his tea, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I know you’re busy.” There was no way he was going to get a decent amount of sleep now, especially since he’d have to fly all the way home first and he didn’t even know how late it already was.

Clockwork’s lips twitched slightly upwards, “Daniel you’ve never once cared before how busy I am when you’ve come to visit,” Danny flinched, well he wasn’t wrong , “and besides, I quite enjoy your company. It’s no trouble at all.”

“Ah,” Danny didn’t know how to react to that, he was pretty sure he was nothing but trouble, especially with a certain future of his locked up in that other part of the clock tower they’d been in, “thanks?”

His host sighed, taking the time to sip his own eerily glowing tea. The silence stretched, but not uncomfortably and Danny found himself starting to drift towards sleep again, the struggle to try and keep his eyes pried open quickly becoming a losing one.

That was probably his cue to leave, as nice as it was to just sit here and not worry about things like classes and ghost attacks, he was probably already pushing it close to the first bell at school. He stood up and Clockwork’s eyes followed, “I have to head out, thanks for the tea Clockwork. I’ll try to be more considerate the next time I drop by.”

There was a small pinch between Clockwork’s brows, something he wasn’t saying or that Danny wasn’t hearing. “I’d rather you didn’t,” he assured and Danny let out a chuckle. He’d probably respond with something equally sarcastic, if not quite as dry, if he wasn’t so tired.

Clockwork seemed to be of the same mind, “Daniel, when was the last time you slept through the night?” He asked it as a question, as if he didn’t already know. Then again, maybe Danny was giving himself too much credit, it was entirely possible Clockwork didn’t waste his incredible power watching to see if Danny bothered to sleep at night.

“Yesterday,” Danny lied, a yawn built behind his jaw as if to discredit him but Danny held it back stubbornly. It didn’t seem to work though, as Clockwork’s lips tightened. He looked over at his screens, eyes flicking quickly over each one while his fingers tapped a steady rhythm against his staff. That, combined with the gentle ticking of clocks and general comforting atmosphere of the other ghost’s lair was making it more and more difficult for Danny to keep his eyes open.

He flinched awake fully as a hand shook his shoulder, shit, did he fall asleep standing up?  

“Daniel,” Clockwork’s hand was still on his shoulder, practically holding him up at this point, “you can always sleep here.”

Danny shook his head, “I don’t have time-”

“Daniel,” Clockwork interrupted, his expression flat.

Oh right.

“I don’t want to…” he tried, “It’s just, you already help me all the time, you’ve fixed so many of my stupid mistakes and-” and Danny was tired of being a burden. He was tired in general, but ancients was he tired of that specifically.

He was tired of seeing his friends lose sleep to help him as back up, he was tired of constantly having to go behind his parents backs and lie to their faces he was tired of watching as Jazz’s once perfect grades started slipping just enough because of all the time she spent helping Danny with his and he was especially tired of knowing that he wasn’t worth the effort in the first place.

Not if he could turn into that .

But Clockwork didn’t let go of his shoulder, in fact, he pulled him closer into a hug, a real, full hug like the ones he used to get from his parents before they started wearing their weapons and he was scared to get near them. “I’d rather you slept here than wandered around the realms half asleep. Who knows where you’d end up,” he said, speaking gently into Danny’s hair.

“You would,” Danny said before losing the battle against another yawn and relaxing fully into Clockwork’s arms. “You know everything. Can I really sleep here?”

“Of course,” Clockwork released him, leaving one hand on Danny’s back to guide him to a staircase he hadn’t ever noticed before. Just how big was this clock tower anyways?

The room Clockwork took him to was a little bigger than the one he had at home and nothing like what Danny had expected. Most of the tower was colored with dark purples and muted greens, with the occasional brush of silver or brass from the multitude of gears and cogs that littered the floors and walls. This room however, was full of dark blues and greys, a swirling galaxy floating above a single full sized bed that Danny easily sunk into when Clockwork led him to it.

He blinked up at the stars, they were perfectly accurate to the night sky above Amity Park if it didn’t have the light pollution and had to stop himself from counting every constellation rendered there in perfect detail or he’d fall asleep just like that without even bothering to thank Clockwork for offering to stop time for him.

“You made me a room.” It should have been obvious, of course, but Danny hadn’t fully processed what the room and it’s decorations meant until he’d said it out loud and Clockwork didn’t even try to deny it.

Clockwork fazed the blankets through Danny in order to pull them over him properly, tucking him in. Danny was almost tempted to ask for a bedtime story, just to see how he’d react. “Yes, I made you a room.”

Danny frowned, he didn’t understand, “why?”

“I suppose it’s a bit of an excuse to have you visit more often,” Clockwork said, ruffling his hair before sitting at the foot of the bed, “and an offer for you to get some proper sleep before you sleepwalk into someone else’s lair and I have to fight for custody.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Danny mumbled into the pillow, his eyes drifting shut.

The last thing he heard before he drifted off was a soft chuckle and a gentle reassurance that he needn’t worry about anything like that just yet. Maybe, if someone like Clockwork could see the absolute worst of Danny, the monster he could become, and still care enough to make him a room and be sure he slept, then maybe Danny couldn’t be as terrible a burden as he thought. Surely Clockwork, who could see all the futures stretched out below him like a parade, wouldn’t waste his efforts if he didn’t think Danny was worth the time.

He dreamed of stars and ticking clocks and didn’t worry for once about how soon he’d have to wake up.

#Danny phantom #Clockwork #lost time #Phic Phight #phic phight 21 #a nice short one to make up for the last one #short and sweet #bee’s writing